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COLOR BLIND 


A Missionary Play 
in Three Acts 








BY 


MARGARET T. APPLEGARTH 
Author of “More Short Missionary Plays,” “Some 
Boys and Girls in America,” “India Inklings,” 
“Lamplighters Across the Sea,” “Mis- 
sionary Stories for Little Folks,” etc. 









NEW os YORK 


GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 






COPYRIGHT, 1923, 
BY GEORGH H. DORAN COMPANY 


REPRINTED FROM 
SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 


COLOR BLIND 
es Kal 
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 


COLOR BLIND 


IN THREE ACTS; TWENTY-TWO CHARACTERS; FOUR 
PRINCIPAL SPEAKING PARTS 


THE CAST: 


Miss Tracy, the artist. 

Mrs. Newton, the mother in mourning. 

Marie, the French maid. 

Seven or eight little fair-haired girls and boys 
under seven years of age. 

Issy, a young girl—very small for her years how- 
ever. 

Jaky, her little seven-year-old brother. 

Her baby sister. 

Children of all nationalities in America—Negro, 
Chinese, Japanese, American Indian, Alaskan, 
Mexican, and the so-called “New Americans” 
in as distinctive costumes as possible—e.g., 
Italians in Roman-striped shawls, Russian boy 
in smock, ete. 


DIRECTIONS: 


Arrange platform as an artist’s studio, easel and 
canvas in the foreground, all sorts of children’s 
pictures leaning against the wall. This same 
scene throughout the play. 

[17] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 


ACTVI 


When the play opens the Artist is seen working 
on a canvas, holding a palette in her hand. 
She backs off occasionally holding her head on 
one side as she squints critically at the pic- 
ture. Knocking is heard at the door. Artist 
goes to open it, palette still in hand. 


Enter Mrs. Newton. [In deep mourning, heavy 
black veil over her face; lifting this veil back over 
her hat, she says:| You are Miss Tracy? The chil- 
dren’s artist? I am Mrs. Newton, Mrs. Theodore 
Newton. Miss Tracy, I have come to talk about a 
picture which I hope you can paint for me. 

Artist. [Putting down her palette and brush, 
pulls forward a chair.] Certainly, Mrs. Newton. 
Won’t you be seated? [They both sit down.]| 
What kind of a picture did you have in mind? 

Mrs. Newton. [Holding a black-bordered hand- 
kerchief against her lips.| Miss Tracy, my hus- 
band and I have had a great sorrow—we— 
[Stops to gain her self-control. | 

Artist. [Sympathetically.] Oh! I am _ so 
sorry—” 

Mrs. Newton. It is so hard for me to speak of 
it, but we lost our little girl this year. She was 
just five years old. We have been wanting to do 
something—for her sake—as a memorial. You may 
have heard that the Church of the Redeemer is 
erecting a beautiful new building? Mr. Newton 
and I are members, and we want to have a me- 

[18] 


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morial picture painted on the east wall—a mural 
painting, and we wondered if you would undertake 
the commission? 

Artist. That is a wonderful honor, Mrs. Newton. 
I certainly appreciate it and I shall be very happy 
to undertake it. Have you any definite ideas for 
the picture? 

Mrs. Newton. Yes; oh, yes! We want it to be 
a picture of little children around the throne of 
God. You know that lovely old hymn—“Around 
the throne of God in heaven, thousands of children 
stand”? We used to love to hear Angela sing it, 
and our idea is to use that as a theme for the pic- 
ture. The building committee and the architects 
are enthusiastic about it; and it’s because we know 
that you are an expert in children’s pictures that 
we turn to you. Mr. Newton and I have only one 
condition: we do hope that you will use Angela’s 
own little neighbors and playmates for the group 
of children. Their parents are very willing; in- 
deed, many of them belong to our church so that 
it will be doubly appropriate to keep it within our 
own circle. The children themselves are exquisite 
little mortals. 

Artist. Doubtless that could be arranged, Mrs. 
Newton. 

Mrs. Newton. I don’t want to be too insistent, 
Miss Tracy, but really we want only that special 
type of child—sweet little spirituelle faces—golden 
hair— 

Artist. Of course, that is the type. I shall be 
glad to see these children soon; I wonder if you 

[19] 


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could arrange for them to come here to-morrow 
morning. They ought to wear white. 

Mrs. Newton. [Clasping her hands.| Yes, spot- 
less white! They will look so lovely! [Rising.] 
Oh, Miss Tracy, I am so relieved that you can 
undertake it for us. I will see that the children 
arrive to-morrow. About ten? 

Miss Tracy. Yes, about ten. 

[They shake hands. Mrs. Newton pulls her 
heavy veil forward over her face as she leaves 
the room. | 

Artist. [Stands in the middle of the platform, 
her clasped hands held against her chin as, lost in 
thought, she stares off in space. Then nods, smil- 
ing:| Yes, it’s really a lovely idea! A great white 
throne with the Saviour and all those fragile aris- 
tocratic little creatures with their golden hair and 
their sweet little up-turned faces. Um’m! [Nods 
slowly, retaining the faraway gaze. | 


CURTAIN 


ACT II 


Same scene as before. Artist, wearing a painting 
smock, is seen putting a few last touches on 
an impromptu white throne, constructed from 
a small raised platform (made of several boxes 
the same height) and a high-backed cathedral 
chair, with several sheets arranged over the 
platform steps and the seat of the chair, pos- 
sibly over the back also if the effect is good. 

[20] 


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| Knocking is heard. | 

Artist. Here they are! [Goes to the door and 
opens it. | 

[Enter Marie, black-gowned, with a frilled wisp 
of a cap and apron; standing behind her are 
the seven or eight little children. | 

Marie. [Gesticulating.| Ees zis ze studio of ze 
Mam’selle Tracy where zese leetle enfants will have 
zeir picture paint? 

Artist. [Laughing.] This is the place! Come 
in, my dears, come in! Let me help you take off 
your coats and hats. 

[Children enter, curtsying politely. Both Marie 
and the Artist busy themselves removing little 
coats, hats, and gloves. Marie then primly 
seats herself by the exit door, looking rather 
bored, yawning occasionally and batting the 
back of her hand against her lips to stifle the 
yowns. Finally nods off to sleep. | 

Artist. [Meanwhile arranges children around 
the white throne.] You see, I haven’t had time 
to have a really wonderful throne made yet, but 
you can pretend that this is heaven, can’t you? 
[Children nod, spellbound.|] And that this chair 
is the beautiful white throne of God, can’t you? 
[Children nod.] See, it is high and lifted up, and 
the glory of it fills all heaven. [Children gaze at 
it enraptured. | 

One little girl. [Climbs up the small raised 
platform and pats the chair seat experimen- 
tally; then says winsomely:| I guess Vl] just 
sit up on God’s throne! 

[21] 


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Artist. [lafting her down.] Oh, no, dear, that 
wouldn’t do at all! For every one of you is to 
stand down here, only the Saviour Himself will be 
up on the big white marble throne while you sing 
to Him the special little song which you have been 
learning. Let me place you just the way I want 
you to stand, then I can start painting you. You 
stand here, dear, and you here. [Artist poses the 
children around the throne, then hurries to her 
easel and starts sketching them rapidly.| Perhaps 
you might sing your little song for me right now, 
will you? 

[Children sing:] 


“Around the throne of God in heaven 
Thousands of children stand, 

Children whose sins are all forgiven, 

A holy, happy band, singing: 

Glory! Glory! Glory be to God on high.” 


[They should repeat the last line softly as a 
refrain, almost in a whisper. | 

[Artist draws as if inspired. Marie sleeps. 
Timid knock is heard. Artist too absorbed to 
notice it. Another knock. Artist still pays 
no attention. Marie still sleeps. Children all 
look over their shoulders toward the door. 
Third knock. Inttle girl now leaves her place 
in the group around the throne and tiptoes 
softly over to the Artist. Pulling her smock 
she says:] 

I think—I think there’s some one knocking at 

the door of heaven! [Points at the door.] 
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Artist. [Turning, calls:] Come in! Open the 
door and come right in. 

[Enter Issy, Jaky and the baby. Issy wears a 
drab shawl around her shoulders, a bright 
scarf (folded triangle-fashion) over her head, 
knotted under her chin, with the free corner 
hanging over the nape of her neck. Wears 
patched gingham dress. There are large holes 
in her stockings. Issy carries the baby all 
bundled up in another shawl and leads Jaky 
by the hand. He wears exceedingly shabby 
blue overalls with all sorts (and colors?) of 
patches sewed here and there. One suspender 
strap of the overalls is missing, but a piece of 
rope is substituted. The faces and hands of 
all three are very dirty. Jaky has the habit 
of rubbing his fist across his nose. | 

Issy. [Setting the baby on the floor, pulls off 
Jaky’s tattered cap and bobs a curtsy.] Say, 
leddy, sooner my popper heard tell how you was 
painting a big pitcher of kids for going in the new 
church over there—[Jerks her thumb over her 
shoulder. |—he says to me, says he, “Issy, I wants 
you should go mit little brudder und sister for 
getting painted into that there pitcher.” So here 
we comes, leddy. 

Artist. But I think there must be some mis- 
take, my dear; I don’t understand at all. In the 
first place, who is your father? 

Issy. [Surprised.] Why, don’t you know pop? 
Well, pop’s the feller that totes the bricks up them 
stepladders for building steeples und udder high 

[23] 


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up dang’rous places. Ain’t you really never seen 
pop, leddy? Ain’t you never seen him clumb them 
ladders all the same as most folks clumb stair- 
cases? Mit bricks on his shoulder, see? Like 
this! [She imitates man with hod on his left 
shoulder, reaching higher and higher with his 
right hand, and pretending to step up, up, up.| 
Why, say, I seen pop git most to heaven, leddy. 
Honest! Jaky’s awful proud over pop’s steeples, 
ain’t you, Jaky? [Grabs Jaky’s right hand and 
says, rebukingly:| Quit wiping your nose und 
speak up real nice and loud. Say “Yes, leddy.” 

Jaky. [Furtively rubs his other fist across his 
nose, says meekly:] Yes, leddy. 

Artist. [Much embarrassed.| But, my dear 
child, I still don’t quite seem to understand why 
you came, for I have all the models I need. 
[She points at the group of children around the 
throne. | 

Issy. [Abashed, points her thumb at that ea- 
quisite silent group.| Them? But they ain’t real 
live kids, is they? [Artist nods. Issy cranes her 
neck toward them curiously.| Say, leave me touch 
’em, will you? [Walks over and tiptoes all around 
them im sheer admiration, her head tilted apprais- 
ingly. Touches one or two of the little dresses 
gingerly. Then, coming back to the Artist, nudges 
her enthusiastically:| Well, what do you know 
about that? Ain’t they just puffikly schweet? 
Look, Jaky, just like leetle white angels already 
So soon, ain’t they? [Jaky jerks his head in a 

[24] 


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solemn nod.| But Jaky, this ain’t no place for 
me und you und beebee. [Grabs his hand, and 
gathers the baby under one arm.| Me und you 
und beebee’s too dreadful dirty for getting painted 
into heaven, Jaky. So just look your fill. My! 
My! Ain’t it puffikly lovely? [Gazes admiringly 
at the children and then at the room. Says to 
Jaky, crossly:] Quit wiping your nose, like I told 
you! Come now, let’s beat it, or we’ll muss up 
this grand place. Lift up your foots real high, 
Jaky, so you won’t squash this swell rug. Don’t 
it stick up something elegant? 

Jaky. [Leans down to stroke the rug gently. | 
Like pussy-cats it feels, Issy! 

Issy. [Apologetically to Artist.| Excuse him, 
leddy. He ain’t used to heaven! Well, good-by. 
[They step high on their way to the door. Open- 
ing it, Issy waves her hand warningly to those out- 
side and yells loudly:] Shoo! Shoo! Git back 
there! 

Marie. [Wakes up in alarm and jumps to her 
feet. 

Artist. [Hurrying over.| Who have you got 
outside? 

Issy. Now please don’t call the police on me, 
leddy,—it’s just some kids I thought maybe you 
could use in your pitcher. I collected most every 
sort of kid in town, see? 

Artist. [Looking out the door.| Well, I should 
think you did! Negroes, Chinese, Japanese, Ital- 
ians, Russians, Turks, Greeks, Indians. But surely 

[25] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 


you see that none of them would fit into my pic- 
ture? 

Issy. [Soothingly.] Oh, sure, sure! I see 
that! We ain’t none of us cleaned up enough for 
being painted in heaven. Well, good-by. [Zo chil- 
dren outside.| Shoo-o-o! [Swoops out at them. | 

Marie. [Whose hands have been raised in per- 
fect horror, now closes the door and says to her 
spellbound charges:| Eef mam/’selle permit, ze 
enfants must put on zeir zings an’ go for zeir 
moosic lesson; yes? 

Artist. Certainly, Marie; the time is up. Thank 
you, my dears, for standing so still and looking so 
bewitching. I will be painting on the picture all 
the time until you come again. 

[Artist and Marie assist the children to put on 
their coats and hats. Artist makes various 
remarks: | 

Did you like being in my picture, Percy? Be 
careful not to muss that pretty dress, Barbara. 

Barbara. [Smoothing her dress primly.| It’s 
a clean little dress. I always wear a clean little 
dress. 

Other children. SodolI! And I! And I! 

Artist. Oh, I am sure you do! Well, good-by, 
my dears. 

Children. [Bobbing polite curtsies.| Good-by, 
Miss Tracy. [Hait.] 

Artist. [Returns to the easel, takes wp her 
palette and brush; regards her work critically 
through half-closed eyes, her head tilted:| I cer- 
tainly managed to catch the pose. Isn’t this par- 

[26] 


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ticular little fellow a dream? And now for the 
white of their dear little dresses and the glint of 
their golden hair... [Paints in silence. Then 
smiles.| Weren’t they startled when those com- 
ical little foreigners came bursting in? [Smiles. 
Paints. Then sighs:| Just the same, it nearly 
broke my heart to see their quaint wistfulness. 
But imagine having such as they in such a picture 
as this! [Paints in silence. Behind the scenes the 
children are softly singing “Around the Throne of 
God in Heaven.’’| 


CURTAIN 


ACT III 


Same scene as before. The Artist may have all 
her speeches written on the canvas to ad her 
memory. Artist is seen before her easel 
painting. (Different smock, if possible.) 
Stands off to look at it thoughtfully, wooden 
end of paint-brush held against her lips. 
Shakes her head disapprovingly. 


Artist. Something is certainly wrong. I never 
did a picture which pleases me so little. We have 
had eight sittings, yet I can’t seem to make any 
progress. What in the world is the matter? It 
isn’t the throne, for it’s magnificent: high and 
lifted up, white, holy. And the face of the Saviour 
is radiant, so glorified, so tender. These angels 

[27] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 


satisfy me, too—the lovely sheen of their silvery 
wings, the worship in their very pose. And, in- 
dividually, each one of these darling little children 
around the throne seems to be perfectly portrayed. 
Yet something is wrong! Is it the face of the 
Saviour? Perhaps I should change the yearning 
look in His eyes. [Starts to paint; stops, hand 
with paint-brush suspended in mid-air.| No, some- 
how that expression seems to belong there. Oh, 
what is lacking? Where is the trouble? For some- 
thing is certainly wrong! [She picks up the big 
canvas, carries it to a char, seats herself and 
props the canvas on her knee so that she can look 
at it earnestly. | 
[Hither the Artist or an unseen soloist should 
now sing (this hymn is in “Northfield Hymnal 
No2.??)] 


“Open my eyes, that I may see 
Glimpses of truth Thou hast for me; 
Place in my hand the wonderful key 
That shall unclasp and set me free. 
Silently now I wait for Thee, 
Ready my God, Thy will to see; 
Open my eyes, illumine me, Spirit Divine.” 


Artist. [Yearningly.] Ah, yes, open my eyes 
—open my eyes— 

Voice. [From behind the great white throne.] 
Suffer the little children to come unto me, and 
forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of 
heaven. 

[28] 


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Artist. [Hagerly.] But here they are in my 
picture, those little children! 

Voice. God hath made of one blood all nations 
of men for to dwell on the face of the whole earth, 
and hath determined the times before appointed 
and the bounds of their habitation; that they 
might seek the Lord, if haply they might feel after 
Him, and find Him, though He be not far from 
every one of us. 

[Enter the smallest of the little white-gowned 
children who posed in the second act. Tip- 
toeing slowly toward the throne she sings the 
refrain: “Singing, Glory! Glory! Glory be to 
God on High.” When she reaches the throne 
she leans over to rest either her elbows or her 
hands (it depends on her height, of course) 
on the seat as she silently gazes upward for a 
moment. Then turns and beckons toward the 
door to Jaky and Issy who are hesitating on 
the threshold. (Issy should have the baby 
balanced horizontally under one arm!) The 
little girl runs over to lead them to the throne, 
and standing between them—holding a hand 
of each she says:] 


“If every little child could see 
Our Saviour’s loving face, 
I’m sure that each one eagerly 
Would run to His embrace.” 


[A second little white-gowned child enters lead- 
ing a Negro child and a Chinese child toward 
the throne. Turns, and says to the audience :] 

[29] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 


“Though black the hand, red, yellow, white, 
All hearts are just the same, 
Each one is precious in His sight, 
Each one He calls by name.” 


[Enter third little white-gowned child leading 
Alaskan and American Indian, followed by 
the others each leading two little foreigners; 
this third child says to the audience: | 


“And those who hear in every land, 
With loyal hearts and true, 

Will grasp some little brother’s hand 
And lead him onward, too.” * 


[The children all group themselves around the 
throne, the Artist puts her canvas back on 
the easel and starts painting; it may be neces- 
sary for her to help the children group them- 
selves attractively or to start them in their 
song, but otherwise she simply continues 
painting as one in an inspired trance while 
the children stand singing the verse and re- 
frain of “Around the Throne of God in 
Heaven.” | 

Voice. [From behind the throne.] It is not the 

will of your Father in heaven that one of these 
little ones should perish. 

[The children now turn and, singing the refrain 
very, very softly, tiptoe from the platform, all 

* Words of “Little Brother 301 by Alfred R. Lincoln. 

[30] 


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but one little foreigner (choose the quaintest 
in the cast) who sits down contentedly on the 
lower step of the throne and refuses to leave, 
even when the others turn and beckon to her 
to come with them. She shakes her head and 
strokes the throne affectionately looking up 
beyond the seat as if she saw a beloved face. 
Issy, however, comes back and holds out her 
hand to the little girl who then jumps up 
quite willingly and leaves the platform. The 
Artist should continue painting throughout 
this little byplay. | 
Artist. [Standing back to appraise her work. | 
Oh, Father, I thank Thee for opening my eyes! 
How color blind I was! [Points to her palette. | 
Red, yellow, brown, black, white, upon my palette, 
yet I used only white. Dear God, Thou dost not 
make heathen, Thou only makest—little children. 
They all are precious in Thy sight: these lovely 
yellow faces, like tender tea-rose petals; these 
dusky browns, like pansy faces; these rich deep 
reds, these deep soft blacks—how lovely! [Paints 
again in silence. Then lays down her palette and 
brush, clasps her hands and cries:] Finished! 
WeeLOn wn) jovevit! Ll love it...) [Prays:]\Dear 
Father, keep all of us from ever being color blind 
again. Help each of us to see that since our 
country marches forward on the feet of little chil- 
dren, the colors are Thy rainbow of promise for 
the future of our country. Oh, Thou to whom all 
colors are alike, grant us to see the good in each 
[31] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 


and to develop it, that Thy name may be hallowed, 
Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth, as 
it is in heaven. Amen. 


CURTAIN 


[32] 





Missionary Plays and Their Production 


By MARGARET T. APPLEGARTH 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 


This pamphlet contains the first of this series of plays, “Color 
Blind.” They are remarkably well adapted for the use of Sun- 
day schools, young people’s societies, and missionary groups. 


The titles are most attractive: Color Blind; Kimono; The Latest Victor 
Record; Just Suppose; The Girl Who Fell Through the Earth; Seven Keys 
to Mr. Bald Pate; Hands Up!; Fare, Please; Indelible; The Gospel Accord- 
ing to the Telephone; Pain Street. 

Net, $1.50 


MORE SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 


Miss Applegarth wrote this second group of plays because of 
the need for variety due to the rapidly increasing use of this 
realistic and appealing method of interesting young people in the 
missionary enterprise. 

The titles are: Empty Stockings; A Summer Christmas Tree Pageant; 
Strictly Private, or The Lady Who Hoarded Easter; Galatea Takes a 
Lease on Life; The Yes But-ers; Katy-did; Wait a Minute; Jack the 
Giant-Killer; The Subscription Clinic; Mrs. Jarley’s Wax-Works; The 
Child in the Midst. 

Net, $1.50 


By MARY M. RUSSELL 
HOW TO PRODUCE PLAYS AND PAGEANTS 


This ideal handbook shows how costumes, properties, and 
scenery may be secured or made at small expense, and gives prac- 
tical suggestions on lighting, grouping and the selection of plays. 
Illustrated. Net, $1.50 


DRAMATIZED MISSIONARY STORIES 


Short dramas graphically depicting incidents in the lives of 
well-known missionaries. As little equipment is required, they 
can be effectively produced by the smaller churches, Sunday 
schools and young people’s societies. Net, $1.00 








AT YOUR RELIGIOUS BOOK STORE 
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 
244 Madison Avenue New York 








